from here, i can see the entire city as it sprawls 60 kilometers along the volga. i encounter a group of soldiers on their way to the hall of honor and the eternal flame. the soldiers are wearing warm felt boots. it is just as cold inside as out, minus 17 degrees celsius. they want to lay flowers. let's go, says his granddaughter. >> he says he wishes to be alone for a moment. i go outside to take a look around the sculpture park. after the moving experience of the hall of honor these oversized statues leave me cold, huge figures naked from the waist up, as if it had not been human beings that fought here, but god's. i wrote art should be as modest as the hero it honors. i am inclined to agree. for a drink he orders, in a bid to warm up the mood. so, to friends, to french among people, and may god give us good health. -- two friendship among people, may god give us good health. bottoms up. the second glass loosens the tongue. after the third, there is no more talking, just singing. ♪ [singing in russian] >> then, he leads everyone to a smaller graveyard, the ceme